Seeking Sohail
by Kuiakaituhi
Summary: Big, grumpy, insistent that "Your normal is not our normal" and accused of being Taliban, Sohail proves he is anything but as he sacrifices himself rather than execute Molly on their orders.Why does he have nothing to live for? What is his back story? What has led him to this act of heroism? Charles, Molly and Qaseem go in search of Sohail.
1. Chapter 1

Seeking Sohail

Chapter 1

 _I've had a feeling that Sohail got really bad press in Our Girl and we found out at the end of Episode 3 that there certainly were hidden depths to him. I suspect he had a sad back story, possibly similar to Qaseem's. And I wonder how he really felt about Molly? So I've decided to go looking for his history._

 _Thanks to Tony Grounds and the BBC for these great characters which intrigue and fascinate me._

"You know, Charles, there was something else I had to do when I went back to Afghan. I needed to find Bashira and to make sure she's OK, of course I did. And I had to see if I was any good at teaching them new medics…and I am, I'm the nuts…" Charles smiled as he recalled the first conversation he and Dawes had about his blisters and the new boots which he had thought were unnecessary and the cause of his sore feet. That was the time he first remembered thinking that his new medic was going to be a handful. He was intrigued by her. While she wasn't exactly cheeky to him –yet- he got the distinct impression that she wasn't the least bit afraid of him or his rank.

She did think she was "the nuts' at her work and had no hesitation at saying so while she proved herself by doing a first-rate job of dressing his blisters. He could, she suggested, break his new boots in by running the platoon around the camp. So had begun a daily catch up, when she would attend to his feet and they would converse lightly about the very divergent worlds they came from. The captain found himself making excuses to drop into the medic's tent sometimes more than once a day on top of the daily appointment times to get his dressings changed.

These days, now that she was back from her second tour which she had done without Charles, they spent some of each day in the long narrow garden at the back of the Royal Crescent house. His parents were still away in Italy and he continued tidying up the garden, sometimes stopping to sip a cool lemonade and to kiss Molly lightly on the top of her head. Molly would sit on one of the white wrought iron garden chairs, knees drawn up to her chin and arms encircling her legs, talking, listening and laughing with him as he pruned the escallonia and heaped up the cuttings for burning. Bees dizzily hummed, wafts of fragrance from the lavender beds drifted through the hazy air.

Relaxed and happy, she found this companionable time with Charles to be the second best thing about these, their first days alone. The best thing did not need any explanation, just that it happened several times a day and that she had never felt more loved and cared for in her whole life before this time. Charles had only to touch her lightly for her to be ready for him and he to be ready for her and their passion for one another, she quickly recognised, was boundless and always new and fresh. Never had she been so ready to share parts of herself that she had held close, fenced off from all others for fear that she would not be taken seriously or, worse, mocked. She could tell him and she could trust him.

"Qaseem's a very patient man," Molly started talking again." I think I was hard work for him…"

"He really respects you, Molly," Charles reassured her. "More than that, he told me he's very fond of you. You remind him of his daughter who would have been the same age as you if…'

She interrupted, "Yeah, and I feel the same about him. When we were in Afghan Qaseem and me, we talked a lot about family stuff 'n that. Sometimes I used to wish he was my father, or at least that my father was a bit more like him."

"So what was the other thing you wanted to do in Afghan, Molly? What's it got to do with Qaseem?"

"Sohail,"she whispered. Charles saw the tears forming, just as they had in the military hospital when Sohail died all those months ago. Just as then, he took her face tenderly in his hands and gently wiped the tears away. "I got it all wrong about him, Charles. Qaseem helped me sort it all in my head. He said it might be good for me to talk to you about it when I got home."

"Let's go inside," he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders, "I'll clean myself up. How about you make us a hot drink and then we can sit down and you can tell me all about it, Molls. Sounds like it's been very important to you. Funny, I thought there was something not quite right, couldn't put my finger on it." Leaning down, he wiped her tears away again. "Let's sort it out. Can't have you sad like this, Dawsey!"

As they settled into the big, soft chairs in the study, Charles recalled a conversation he had shared with Qaseem not long after the uncomfortable visit he and Molly had made to Sohail's tent. He had wanted to understand something of what drove the big Afghani soldier, who gave off an air of barely suppressed rage most of the time. There was something else, though, something that suggested sadness and pain. Charles had noticed the scarring and what appeared to be burn marks on Sohail's face and neck.

During the traumatic events on the road to Bastion, when he and Molly had discovered Sohail's broken body under the bloody stained white sheet he had been stunned to hear the Afghani pleading in Pashto to be allowed to die. The man had said he had nothing to live for. Before he died that day, however, Sohail had unwittingly enlightened him and Molly about two acts of selflessness which gave the lie to assumptions they and others in 2 Section had made about him.

One of those acts involved Sohail taking a fatal beating rather than follow orders from the Taliban to execute Molly. It was no wonder she felt a need to find Sohail's story, to better understand him. Charles recalled the conversation he had had with Molly at Smurf's funeral. He had told Molly to take the time to sort all of her stuff out before she came back to him. Clearly, this was a big, important part of that stuff. And who better to help than Qaseem?

Molly sipped at her hot tea and gave Charles a small smile.

"I ain't very good at this stuff, Boss…"

"Charles!" He reminded her. He'd noticed that whenever she got a little het up or shy around new people from his life, she tended to revert to the old pattern of relating to him from the FOB and Bastion days. And calling him "Boss" was part of that. Though sometimes he thought she deliberately provoked him into reminding her that of his real name so she could smirk and tease him as she had in the restaurant on their first real date.

"No hurry, Molly. You had a fair bit to do with Sohail, not much of it good on the surface, I think. I sense there was a lot we didn't know before you went back to Afghan. It's going to be really, really interesting to find out what happened when you talked to Qaseem."

"Well, here goes," she started.

 _I'm really not sure about this storyline. Some reviews would help me make my mind up. There will be some romance along the way, I believe._

listen to him.


	2. Chapter 2 Really? A Goat?

Chapter 2

REALLY? A GOAT?

"Do you remember how Sohail was often sweaty?" Molly asked. "I know we was all minging a lot of the time in the FOB. Never enough hot water for a proper shower and washing me hair were a major, especially when I had a posh boy officer barge in to the medic's tent and start demanding poncy coffee and writing foreign words on me arm. For all I knew Rosabaya might have been a rude word…" Charles burst into loud laughter at her cheekiness.

"Look what it got you, Dawsey! A real live officer of your own to boss around and tease and make cups of tea whenever you like. Not to mention all the other stuff…" Getting up from his squishy armchair, he sat down close to her on the sofa, pulled her onto his lap and kissed the sweet spot on her throat, all in one easy movement. Just as always over these past few days, he was immediately aroused by his physical closeness to her and by her rapid breathing, the usual signal from her that she wanted him just as much.

"Hold your horses, Boss! If that's what we end up doin' instead of talkin' then the whole day will be gone with us in bed n'all."

"I know. I can make you feel better straight away and I can have fun at the same time…" His long sensitive fingers stroked gently behind her ears, the kisses moved down from her throat until he was nuzzling into her cleavage. This was a major incursion, it seemed, a mission carried out with military precision to soothe and then arouse her by concentrating on her most vulnerable sweet spots. He was getting to be good at this, she thought. Very, very good, in fact. He was learning her body as rapidly as he could, knowing where to pleasure her and for how long and how to show her what he wanted. Charles was an amazing and adventurous lover, gentle sometimes, a little rough at other times but always, always tuned to her needs and generous in his willingness to wait for her if need be.

She could feel herself slipping away to that place where she welcomed him in his entirety into her being, where there was nothing else and no other person existed on the planet. Ragged, rapid breathing from him showed her he was right there with her. For Molly there was no point in wasting another chance to make love with this man who had taught her that "having sex" was the poorest substitute possible for this glorious and joyful melding of their whole selves. Never would any other man touch her, she knew. No other woman would ever be enough for him, after her. She was sure of that and of him and of the absolute power of their love. Before Charles, she had had no idea that this depth and width of love existed anywhere.

They had not made it to bed. Not for the first time, either. Actually, when she thought about it, they rarely did make it to bed. It was probably a very good thing his parents were still in Italy. They would have to improve their behaviour when the "olds" came back, or move out. The latter course of action was probably the safest.

Afterwards, Charles lifted himself gently from her, kissed her on the tip of the nose and smiled. "I love you, Dawsey", he drawled, yawning and heavy eyed after their torrid lovemaking, "but I really worry about how much you seem to need my body. It's hardly decent…"

"Oi! It weren't my idea to start with," she replied with mock indignation. "You made out you was as good as a miracle cure for my blues."

"Did it work?" he asked, his dark eyes as seductive as the first time he had asked her that question. The first time he had asked whether his ploy to get her back to his home had been successful and she had told him about having a Travelodge organised as a back-up plan.

"I've been desperate for you to kiss me since the last time we kissed, about an hour ago." She quipped. "Now that I'm feeling better, Doctor Charles, let's get back to the Sohail affair. Before that dose of miracle cure we just had, I told you to hold your horses. Well, horses have a big part to play in this story, but not just yet, so listen up. I'm going to tell you some of the Qaseem bit but there might be some things you remember from the FOB time. They might be part of this story. "

Whenever he was puzzled or upset by something beyond his control, Charles would screw up his forehead until a deep furrow appeared between his eyes and scratch the back of his head.

"What things, Molly? Apart from all the stuff about Sohail that you or Smurf were involved in, I don't remember much at all about him. I **did** see him in that pretty basic gym we set up in the FOB, quite a lot actually. He worked out really hard. Could lift those old axles we used for weights much more easily than I could. He was really strong, Could do heaps of reps."

Molly had shifted right to the edge of her seat and was looking at him intently. Her eyes were glittering with excitement and she urged him on,

"What else, Charles? What about his shirt? It were always sweaty and rank, yet he didn't take it off when he lifted them weights, did he? Never once! Why, Charles? Not like you, take your shirt off at the drop of a hat, showing them muscles off to an innocent girl like me. Fair embarrassed me, it did." Her wicked grin told him exactly what her real reaction to his preening had been. And yes, he had done it to get her attention. He had the grace to blush and she burst out laughing.

"Just like when you perved at me in my shorts in the med tent. Can't a girl even have a shower and wash her hair without her senior officer eying her up in her shorts?" Molly batted her eyelids and gave him a languid stare from under her long curling eyelashes. It was a virtuoso vamp performance.

"Those fucking shorts! They were indecent, Dawes. They should have been made illegal. Lots of the guys on the FOB found those shorts troublesome, not just me."

"True, Boss. I know. Gave me a lot of power, those shorts. Later on they have a small role to play in the Sohail story, but just wait for that bit." Boy, was she playing him now. Molly was expert at teasing him, at needling him about his jealousy which still reared its ugly head from time to time.

"Are we back with the Coco Pops, Molly? You were wearing the fucking shorts that day. Perhaps you do know what a euphemism was, after all. Maybe he did want to dip his spoon into Coco Pops."

"Don't be pathetic, Charles, can't you, even now, take a wind-up from me. Just wait, all will be revealed. Shit, I sound just as full of me own importance as a certain British Army captain, don't you think, wiv a poncy posh boy accent."

"Stop, Molly," Charles interrupted. "You're playing games now and avoiding some hard stuff, I think. Tell me about what you found about Sohail and I promise I'll listen carefully and not butt in, OK? But tell me about Sohail's shirt that never came off, please."

"Not till later about the shirt. Qaseem told me that Sohail lived in Kabul for quite a long time when he were a kid. He was studying at the University, engineering I think Qaseem said. He doesn't come from Helmand, but from some place up north of Afghan, can't remember the name of the city wot was near his family. I wrote it down, I can find it for you, but it's not really important.

Molly stopped for a breather and rubbed her eyes with her fists. Charles wasn't sure whether she was getting close to tears again, but decided to let it go and just listen, as he had promised.

"Wot Qaseem told me was that Sohail was an international wrestler. It's a real big sport in Afghan and heaps of guys do it. They have clubs in Kabul where guys meet and practice. They don't have a lot of money, so things are pretty basic, but here's the interesting part. Even though lots of Afghans hate the Yanks, the wrestlers hero worship American tough guys and they have posters of them all over their gyms. You know, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone, Kirk Douglas before he got really old, them sort of people."

"That makes sense, that he was a wrestler…"

"Ssssh, you said you'd shut up and listen. That's not the best part yet… and we're still not at the sweaty shirt bit. Qaseem said he met Sohail in class at the University and had asked him why he was not in the newspapers for wrestling anymore. He were that good. Sohail said he had been forced into giving it up. He was going to join the Army, he said, and that was the last time they spoke until, fuck's sake, they both end up here about a million miles from home at Hellmand in the same FOB. Wouldn't read about it, eh, Boss?" Molly was getting excited and reverting to her old manner of communicating with Charles, from the 2 Section days.

" **Charles** , for fuck's sake, Molly **. I am not your Boss any more!"** She sidled up to him and ran her hand, utterly suggestively, over the front of his jeans, looking directly into his eyes. "Sometimes I like to call you Boss, Boss. Specially when we're in our pit and you…" Sometimes she was very naughty, he knew that well.

"You're bloody insatiable, Dawesy. Shall we just wait out a bit while you finish the story? I'm still catching my breath from the last round. You can ask me later to play The Boss if you're still keen, OK?"

Pretend pouting, Molly went back to her conversation with Qaseem. The teacher from Kabul commanded respect from all of the soldiers with whom he worked and many of them entrusted him with their stories. Charles knew him to be wise, kind and utterly trustworthy. Captain Azizi, who was even younger than Charles and commanding men who did not have the training background of the British soldiers, had a strong professional regard for the older man, using him as a sounding board when difficult decisions needed to be made.

So too Sohail, who it turned out would talk quietly about his life and worries with Qaseem, but only when no one was around to notice. After all, there was no way such a tough wrestling star could be seen to be hurting or weak. Nor would anyone else ever see him weep, his shoulders shaking with grief, tears flowing unchecked down his cheeks. Safer to be thought of as angry and aggressive rather than sad and soft.

While Sohail was alive, the older man would never have disclosed that Sohail talked to him. But now the large, muscular sports hero whose wrestling prowess had been enough to get stories about him into the paper was dead, and the person whose life had been saved by the sacrifice of his wanted to know why he would do such a thing. Qaseem decided that it was time to tell her as much as he knew and to help her find the rest.

"Charles, Qaseem asked me to come to his flat. His sister was there to make it all above board. Women do NOT go to men's flats in Kabul, not if they want to stay alive. He sat me down and this is what he said. I dunno if I got all the right words but this is the guts of it. 'Molly, do you remember what I said to you when you were so angry that Bashira was due to be married off so young? I said "Welcome to my country" and this is another one of those moments.

Sohail came from a very important, noble family. The men in his family are proud and strong and arrogant. They can trace their family line back to Genghis Khan. They have a longstanding tradition that the men all play Afghanistan's national game…Trouble was, the Taliban banned the game and executed lots of the top players. Others were made to run away and hide, sometimes for many years. That was what forced Sohail out of the wrestling clubs and the newspapers and into the Army as an ordinary soldier in a faraway place. The real reason he was wrestling was that he was training to join the senior team of Afghanistan's national sport. Some thought he was going to be the greatest player of this modern era. Wrestling made him even stronger."

Molly's eyes were faraway too as she replayed the conversation with her beloved friend and mentor.

"I think I got the words he said right, Charles, it were hard to remember the exact ones."

"You did fine. Qaseem would be proud to hear you talk like this."Charles was acutely tuned to her voice.

He knew what this game was. Once he had been allowed to watch a match when he was a special envoy to the north for the army during his second tour. He would never forget the noise, the smells, the skill levels of the forty or more players on the field, the excitement and rush he had felt. He had bloody loved it. It had touched something deep and primitive in his soul. He recognised that this game was the Afghani equivalent of the Bath rugby he loved and the West Ham football that was Molly's passion.

This game was ancient and could be traced back pretty much in its current form for thousands of years. It was the forerunner of polo, so loved by the English aristocracy. What an irony, he thought that this so-called primitive game could develop into something so thoroughly upper crust and exclusive in England

He couldn't stop himself any longer "I know what it is," excited as a small child, he called out "I've seen it and it's called Buzkashi and they don't use a ball or a puck, but a… Shit, it's bloody different, I'll say that much."

"That's what I thought when Qaseem told me that the two sides fight to get the carcass of a goat into a goal area. But they chop it's bleedin' head off first! I mean really! A goat!

'


	3. Chapter 3 UNDER THE SHIRT

Chapter 3

UNDER THE SHIRT

 _ **Writing this story has been timely for me. There has been a lot of news about the renewed Taliban insurgency in Helmand Province over the past few days and it seems sometimes that Sohail's prophetic words about things reverting to "our normal" once the British Army left are coming full circle. I feel very sad for the Sohails of Afghanistan. This is an attempt to create a back story for him. I would have liked more about him and the other Afghanis in the series.**_

 _ **Thank you to Tony Grounds and the BBC as always. The "sketches" of characters lend themselves to creativity and imagination, which are really one and the same thing.**_

"Sometimes they use a calf instead of a goat." Charles remembered talking about Buzkashi with one of the Afghans who had taken him to watch. There was still some opposition from Taliban insurgents and his host had insisted that Charles should wear local clothing, so that attention was not drawn to him as a Westerner, giving the Taliban another excuse to cause trouble. He had invited Charles some days before the event, telling him not to shave for that week so that there was some semblance of a traditional beard. Charles' facial hair was dark, so that he had little trouble in producing quite a reasonable mow over a week. As he described his hirsute appearance, he could see Molly was finding it very difficult to keep a straight face.

"Yuk!" she commented. "I wouldn't want to be kissing ya with that fuzz on top of ya mouth! Don't mind a little bit of stubble, 'specially when you're playing Boss, Boss, but scratchy moustaches are NOT my thing."

"If you were an Afghani woman, you wouldn't dare say something like that to me, Molly," he murmured. " If you and I were Afghani, we couldn't be together at all without being married. If anyone knew that we were even attracted to one another, we could easily have become targets for the mullahs. You could have been stoned to death and I would at the least have been beaten severely. Different rules for men and women, still, Molls."

She shivered visibly and Charles hugged her hard.

"Thank whatever God there is in Britain that we're here and not there. Though there are some who want to bring Sharia law here. Scary stuff, Dawes!"

Putting on traditional male dress had been one of the strangest experiences of his time in Afghanistan. His dark hair and eyes, together with his chiselled facial features gave him a natural advantage. Long hours on patrol in the heat of the day had tanned his skin and he was aware that some of the lines that had appeared on his forehead in recent months were going to be permanent.

The Perehan tunbar was sewn from soft, cool linen and was made up of three pieces, some loose trousers, a long, flowing tunic and a sleeveless waistcoat which was a little longer than the traditional Western version. Immediately he had these garments on as well as the characteristic flat hat,Charles felt different, somehow more 'of the land.'

His host grinned at him and asked how he felt. It would be a very good idea, he suggested, if Charles kept his verbals to a minimum. His Pashto had a definite textbook quality to it and the posh boy public school accent did not help. Besides, people from the area where the Buzkashi match was happening spoken northern Afghan dialects and there was every chance he would understand little or nothing that was being said. Best to look interested and learned and to cheer when everyone else did around him. A great idea, Charles had thought. Some judiciously placed nodding might help,too.

Looking at himself in the long mirror, he was reminded of a famous face, someone who had been very prominent on the world stage a few years ago and whose name eluded him for the moment. And then he remembered the Pakistani cricketing genius who had become a Westernised playboy, with prestige on the world stage, adulation from his countrymen, women and money aplenty. He married a British woman and took her back to his homeland where he put on his national dress and entered politics. The marriage had not lasted though there were two children and she had gone back to England, eventually.

He DID resemble a younger Imran Khan, he could see it in the mirror. He had always admired the way the Pakistani who came from an area close to Afghanistan and whose country was dealing with many of the same issues, had gone back home and had set about improving, first of all, medical facilities for women. Khan's mother was suffering from cancer, so he responded by building hospitals. Charles reflected that there were not too many men he would rather resemble, at least physically, than Imran Khan. He hoped he could be as committed in the long run to the things he personally believed in as Khan was. The Pakistani had the courage of his convictions and had followed the line of duty at home. Of course, this had followed his glittering career, which had brought pride to his countrymen and caused many a female heart to be touched.

"Charles, come back. Where were you?" Molly had patiently waited for Charles who was clearly a million miles away in his head. "So, Qaseem told me a bit about Sohail and his family. And it were really interesting, but real sad. They were all dead, Qaseem said, except Sohail and one other."

"All of them? How, Molly? Did he say when or where?" Charles was back, in a flash, at the roadside on the way to Bastion, crouching over the filthy, bloody bundle that had turned out to be the critically injured Sohail. The big Afghani had pleaded with them to let him die. Charles thought he would remember all his life the terrible pain in his eyes, the despair and loneliness as he whispered in Pashto that he had nothing to live for any more. What Captain James would always take from that awful scene was his absolute conviction that people were not either all good or all bad, as he so often, in the words of Dylan Thomas, reminded the men under his command.

Sohail had told them that his horrific injuries had been inflicted by the Taliban when he would not do what he was told by them. The full impact of the Taliban's orders was not to unfold until they saw him in Bastion Hospital later that day.

Molly had been just as shocked to realise how wrong everyone had been about the Afghani's loyalties, though, to give her her due, the captain thought, she had stuck up for Sohail from the first time she had laid eyes on him. Deflecting Smurf's spite and goading, Molly had insisted that Sohail was "one of us", though how true that was, the captain had never really been sure till that revelation on the dry, dusty Afghan highway to Bastion.

Molly moved closer to Charles, snuggling into his side and absentmindedly picking up one of his long hands in both of hers, so tiny in comparison. Gently and without needing to think about it, he began to stroke her fingers, soothing her and showing her that he loved her at the same time. It was a mannerism which had developed quite naturally since the first time he had done it, just after he had written "Rosabaya" on her forearm and asked her to bring the coffee and herself back to him after her two weeks leave from the FOB. Molly loved him to touch her in this special way. As usually happened, she relaxed visibly, but found that it was easier to keep her eyes cast down as she shared with Charles the next part of Sohail's story, as told to her by Qaseem. They were heavy with tears.

Before she started to speak, Charles put a thumb under her chin, tipped her head back and kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. Smiling softly, he was giving her permission to do whatever she needed to tell the story, to take her time, to know that he was there for as long as it was going to take.

"I love you, Dawesy." He used the nickname they reverted to when dealing with stuff from Afghan times. It sort of helped to create a demarcation between the business of then and of now. Both of them knew there was still plenty they would need to work through over time. No one goes unscathed through such an experience as the tour they had shared as well as the tours they had been involved in separately. "Take all the time you want. If you need to have a break, I can make us some dinner or a hot drink. Let's leave the wine till we've finished so we can both concentrate really hard, OK? Somehow I think this has been bubbling up inside you ever since you got home."

When Qaseem had arrived at the FOB with the Under Fives and Captain James, he had been recognised straight away by Sohail, but it had been several weeks before the soldier had approached the interpreter directly. He had a younger soldier with him all the time, almost like a shadow and the two of them shared a tent which was much larger and better fitted out than those of the ordinary ANA troops. The older man wondered at the reason for this but said nothing until one afternoon when he was sitting reading in the mess tent. The off duty soldiers were engaged in a loud and boisterous card game in a nearby tent and their voices echoed throughout the dusty alleyways between the temporary canvas buildings in the FOB. Captain James was in his tent attending to the hated paperwork which went with being an officer and Molly Dawes was in the medic's tent doing whatever medics do on a hot afternoon in an Afghan FOB.

Engrossed in an anthology of modern British poetry, Qaseem was startled by the sudden weight on the bench seat he suddenly found himself sharing with Sohail. For once, the big soldier was on his own. When Qaseem asked where the lad had got to, Sohail said he was having a rest in their tent. It was not often that he could shake off the younger man, he said, but he had a particular responsibility for him which he took very seriously. Ali was just eighteen and had been with him for the past two years. His mother had been Sohail's older sister but she and all the rest of her family were dead. The boy was his shadow. If people could look past the tough boy exterior, they would see a frightened colt, not yet ready for the Buzkashi field, he said.

Qaseem's heart began to speed. Since his wife and daughter had been killed in a Taliban explosion, he had been subject to palpitations and sometimes shortness of breath, probably related to shock and ongoing stress, but there was no way he was going to let the medics know that for fear he would be sent home. He had managed to avoid several medical tests through various devious means which he was not prepared to share with anyone. Feeling needed with this group of eager, sometimes foolhardy young men and one woman, he could think of nothing worse than his small, lonely apartment on campus in Kabul where his grief had the potential to overwhelm him.

The big man clearly wanted to talk, and he sensed that this would not be an easy conversation. Probably there would be similarities between his story and Sohail's and that was not something he would enjoy. His heart was still raw. Qaseem longed for his wife and daughter every day of his life. Whether he had the generosity of heart or, indeed, the will to hear another sad Afghan story, of which there were so many, he was unsure.

To his utter astonishment, the big man scanned the tent and the sandy area outside and quickly stripped off his regulation khaki Tshirt. The marks started at the base of his neck and crisscrossed the length and breadth of his back. Silvered now over the several years since they had been made, the scars had the power to make Qaseem draw in his breath in shock. There were at least fifty and they had been laid down on Sohail's back with a degree of artistry. Almost as if the person with the cane, for that is what it looked like had been used, had a design in mind before he began his work.

"Taliban?"

"When I was seventeen, before University in Kabul. Yes, Taliban." The shirt went back on now that Qaseem had seen. Clearly this was not for common knowledge, in case someone came into the tent and saw.

"I have had to work very hard in the gym to get some flexibility in my back, but I will never ride Buzkashi so comfortably now, he said. I healed enough for me to enlist though." His laugh was bitter and short. "That was the safest place for me and the boy, but I will tell you about that another time."

Charles was horrified at Molly's story. Looking down, he could see tears running down her face and in a gesture she knew from before, he leaned forward and wiped the tears away with his thumbs.

"Do you want to stop, Molls?' he asked tenderly but she shook her head, took a deep, deep breath and went on with the story.

"There's lots more. I'll just get to the end of this bit and we might do the rest tomorrow. Suddenly, I'm wanting to curl up with you in our bed and just have a hug, Charles. Not even any funny stuff. Sohail's story makes my blood run cold. I just want you to warm me up, OK?" she pleaded in a voice that might very well have belonged to a much younger, more vulnerable Molly Dawes. He smiled and nodded and went back to stroking her hand.

When Qaseem asked Sohail why he had shown him the scars, the answer had been that he wanted someone to know, someone who understood how the Taliban had operated in the North ten years ago and more. Someone who might understand that his moods which sometimes might be taken for surliness were actually sadness. And he felt he could trust Qaseem because he sensed, so easily, another bereaved Afghani.

The beating had occurred on a day when Sohail was out tending to the family's buzkashi horses. These magnificent creatures were bred purposefully for the field and trained from birth to perform. Whilst there were master riders, the Chapandaz, a stature often not achieved by the best of the best riders until they were in their forties, the horses were often prized above the men and were treated like royalty. It had been a matter of great joy to him that his father trusted him enough to check on the horses' wellbeing each morning. He was aware that this duty was only for a limited time. In a month's time he would be travelling to Kabul to begin his degree studies. He and his father would surely miss one another, though neither had been able to say so to the other.

His father was _**the**_ Chapandaz of their tribal area and in that role always had first pick of the horses. There was one pure bred white horse, of a regal Arabian bloodline, which he and his father had been particularly preparing for the next Buzkashi. Sohail was brushing the horse's gleaming coat, all the while talking to him and telling him what a great champion he was going to be, when _ **they**_ came.

In a cacophony of Kalashnikovs fired into the air, screaming tires as they braked maniacally in their clapped out, stolen Jeep and the screaming of six or so yelling, mad looking Talibanis, he was pulled to the ground and the clothing stripped from his upper body. Dragged protesting and terrified to the Jeep, he was laid over the bonnet of the vehicle which was hot enough to burn his stomach and chest.

The cane whistled through the air. The first stroke was totally shocking to him. He had not realised what pain the thin, flexible rods could inflict. As the strokes rained down on him, he heard two distinct sounds, both terrifying in their message and their intensity. A Talibani stood next to his head as his companion continued to slice Sohail's skin with the cane.

"Tell your father," he said in a quiet and surprisingly pleasant tone, "that this is the only warning he will get to stop the Buzkashi. It is an offence to Allah and the mullahs have instructed us to stop it."

The other noise, more terrible by far was the screaming of the Arabian steed as the tendons in all four of his legs were sliced and he crashed to the ground. The screaming went on and on long after he had been thrown off the Jeep's bonnet and lay under the burning sun, delirious with pain and eventually thirst. Later he was told he was unconscious and that the horse was put down.

That was, Molly told James, how he said his father had found him and the horse three hours later. And that was why he never took off his shirt in the FOB, in front of people who would want to ask him what had happened and who wouldn't understand at all if he told them.

Tears soaked the front of Molly's light summer dress. As Charles lifted her easily into his arms, hers went around his neck and she sobbed with her sadness for the big Afghani about whom so many assumptions had been made

"You and that Dylan Thomas fella was so right, Charles! Nobody is all good or all bad."

 _ **If you are a "young thing" I suggest you Google Imran Khan, particularly as a young cricketer. I've always thought there was a bit of him in CJ/BA, who should be seriously flattered at the comparison I might add!**_

 _ **I'm really needing to find out what readers are thinking about this story. It's a bit of an experiment for me. So, reviews, please… I do appreciate the thought you put into your comments**_.ow? No wonder he said he had nothing to live for


	4. Chapter 4 NORMAL

Chapter 4

NORMAL

 _ **Unfortunately, none of the Taliban stuff in here is impossible. For that terrible troupe of murderers, it was/is their normal. Same as for IS. Our heroes need to do a bit of thinking about presumptions and preconceptions in this chapter.**_

 _ **Again thanks to Tony Grounds and the BBC for these great characters to build a story around.**_

Clearly, what Molly had learned of Sohail's life before the army had affected her deeply. As Charles carried her upstairs, she sobbed against his shoulder till his shirt was sodden with her tears. Gently he lowered her onto the bed, then lay down beside her, gathering her into his arms once again. He found himself comforting her, patting her back and murmuring soothing words into her ear. Molly clung to him, burrowing her forehead into the crook of his neck, her shoulders heaving in distress until, very slowly, the sobbing subsided. Patiently, he waited for her to talk when she was ready. Eventually, she lifted her head and gave him one of those smiles which always, always caused his breath to catch in his throat and his heart to turn over. Her green eyes still tearful, she spoke softly.

"I wonder wot them boys in Section 2 would make of their tough captain pattin' his medic's back and whisperin' in her ear. They might give you a proper rinsing, Boss."

"I think they'd mostly understand, Molly. Those guys really care about you, still, you know. They have a huge amount of respect for you…but I guess there's always the "tiny shorts effect" in the background. They do see you as a woman, not just as a soldier. And they'd want you treated well."

"Anyway, when are we goin' to tell them about us? Qaseem knows that we're really together, not just flirting any more and I guess them Army bigwigs know now that you've handed back your commission."

"Don't think any of that's important now, Molly. I really didn't understand how distressed you still were about the Sohail stuff. I think we both need to sort that out first in our heads."

Molly's story had had a strange effect on him, he realised. As he had listened, flashbacks of events in the FOB and on patrol outside of it had come to him. Snippets of conversations he had had and fragments overheard between others were at the edge of his memory. He strained to recall details: when he could not easily do so, he left them to surface in their own time. Charles had learned at University that he did best at recall when he trusted his own mind and did not worry at his memories like a dog digging up a bone. In their own good time those memories would resurface in their entirety, if they were important enough for whatever was happening in his life.

And, he realised, what had happened around Sohail was not only important in his growing relationship with Molly, but in his own understanding of the war in Afghanistan and his own participation in it. On several occasions on tour he had said that he didn't get emotionally involved and that he followed the orders given by those further up the chain of command. Well, his medic on his last tour had no compunction in flouting orders, especially his, if she didn't see the point in them. And the big Afghani soldier had so succinctly summed up the inevitable outcome of the British Army's involvement in Hellmand Province. After all, there were huge discrepancies between the Afghan and British understanding of normal. Once the British soldiers withdrew, Sohail said, everything would revert to the Afghani "Normal".

"What have you achieved?" he had asked Charles and Molly. In all truth, Charles had not been able to reply. With that, Charles understood how Sohail's responses to him in the FOB had gotten under his skin. Already, the captain had been asking silent questions of himself about the purpose and efficacy of the British involvement in Afghanistan. The big, scarred soldier had served to remind him of those unanswered but very important questions.

Charles noticed that he felt very tired, not something he usually experienced in the middle of an autumn day in Bath. Molly, he noticed, was breathing rhythmically and was sound asleep. Wryly, he asked himself whether this tiredness was a result of getting emotionally involved. Pulling up the light duvet over them both, he wrapped his arms around Molly's waist and drifted away to sleep.

He had not felt her get out of bed. As he slowly came back to the room Charles moved his hand inadvertently from her waist to cup her breast. The damp summer dress was gone, all her clothes were gone. She was naked. Skin warm, breathing just slightly faster than usual, green eyes glittering in the half light of late afternoon, Molly waited for him to wake fully. She stroked his shoulder gently and kissed him lightly on that sweet spot on his neck, just under his chin. God, she knew what that did to him, every time.

"When I came to, "she admitted, "I wanted you right then. I wanted to tear all your clothes off. I wanted to kiss you all over. I wanted to…" He interrupted her with a deep, searching kiss, all the while rolling her nipple in his long beautiful, sensitive fingers as she strained towards him, asking him wordlessly to caress the other.

"Why didn't you?" he murmured lazily. "I like it when you play Boss Lady sometimes. Conserves my energy." He grinned wickedly. Her breathing was now fast and shallow and he knew she was ready for him right then. Easily he lifted her onto him, so that they were skin to skin and he sighed with the delight he always felt at this very moment when they merged their bodies and spirits. It felt so _**goddam right**_. It _**was**_ so _**goddam right**_. And he knew it always would be.

"That's it!" She was clinging to him, her nails raking his shoulders. "That's exactly it!" Molly wailed, a high keening call. "I always want you, Charles. Just you!" And they were both gone, together.

This time, when they woke almost at the same time, it was night. Molly stretched luxuriously, kissed him and was out of bed at once. Alert almost immediately, a response learned from her army training, she ran to the bathroom and was soon under the stinging needles of a very hot shower.

"I'm mingin'," she called. "And you are too. You get in _ **after**_ me, not at the same time, Charles James. Enough of the fun and games…for now. I'm hungry. I'll order us pizza while you're in the shower. We can do some more talking while we eat it."

"Bossy madam," he commented as they changed places in the shower, "I've a good mind to pull you back in here and…"

"No, Charles." She was serious again and spoke quietly. "We talked about a lot of the Sohail stuff already. There is some more and I want to get it over with. OK?" He nodded, and heaved a big sigh of pretend resignation.

"Guess I'll have to wait, then."

Within half an hour they were sitting at the kitchen table, pizza boxes in front of them with a glass each of chilled white wine. Right now, there was a companionable comfort between them. Charles thought about the easy way they related to one another. For two people who had come from such different backgrounds and in spite of the big age difference between them, he never failed to appreciate the friendliness they felt for one another, the mutual respect and consideration in addition to the physical passion that was always just one kiss, one accidental touch away. And there was the shared experience of Army life with its banter which could smooth over the rough edges of both military and everyday life.

His capacity for jealousy, his possessiveness were his biggest stumbling blocks to having the perfect relationship with Molly. He knew he was responsible for dealing with these very unattractive parts of his personality. Molly's biggest drawback as far as he was concerned was her sense of inferiority compared with him. She tended to dismiss her home and family and her life experience as less important than his. To this day she still could not totally believe that Charles had chosen her, that he loved her. This she had to deal with, he recognised. He could not fix it for her.

"I think this is really important stuff, Charles." She folded away the empty pizza boxes, topped up their wine and continued. "Let's go on with Sohail's story, OK?"

Qaseem had told her of Sohail's unspoken stature among the youngest of the ANA soldiers in the FOB. Those with any interest in weightlifting, wrestling or the Buzkashi knew that he came from an area and family renowned for their prowess in these physical pursuits. The Buzkashi was far, far more than a mere sport, it was a way of life, an obsession with stars who were revered and emulated wherever possible. The nearest comparison she could make was the world of British football, in particular her beloved West Ham and its star players Diafra Sakho and Winston Reid. Charles might, she thought, understand a comparison with the All Blacks from New Zealand, where the national game and its stars like Dan Carter and Richie McCaw were the stuff of legend.

Sohail's father had carried the same hero status in Afghanistan, in his time, as these current stars of their sports. Sohail had been the heir apparent, until the terrible events which had brought him from Kabul University to this place in Helmand Province, far from his home. The ANA had persuaded Sohail to not seek officer training but to remain an enlisted man because of his capacity to become a role model and "go to" person for the younger and younger recruits who were signing up to fight. He was allocated a slightly larger tent so that he could talk with the young soldiers, sometimes just boys, and make them traditional chai in an attempt to ease them into their duties. Captain Azizi had made this decision, as it turned out in consultation with Qaseem. Both saw the wisdom of having an older man as a mentor. As well, Sohail could keep watch over his wingman, his nephew, without obvious favouritism.

As Molly passed on what Qaseem had told her, Charles recalled young Afghani men such as Rolex Boy, who had lied about his age and whom they had found ambushed and dead on the mountain pass. Next, he remembered being back in the FOB handing out mail to 2 Section. Sohail was outside his tent and spat in seeming contempt for the British soldiers. Some young Afghani servicemen had arrived, enthusiastically shaking Sohail's hand and he had welcomed them warmly. Molly and Charles had observed these events before deciding to pay a visit to the tent.

What was the spitting about? They had not been sure what was happening. Molly wondered now whether Sohail was showing his contempt for a system where English boys got parcels from home and Afghani boys, many of them orphaned by the Taliban, became easy targets. Who could be sure? Both of them, with the benefit of hindsight, recalled their own deep seated suspicion at that time that Sohail was Taliban. No wonder the Afghani had become angry. Charles decided that he needed to do some more thinking about his visit to that tent.

Charles often thought since he had been home about his own inflexibility for much of his Afghan service. It had taken Molly to be persistent in choosing to do what was right rather than what was easiest and to model that behaviour for him to begin to entertain other ways of acting on tour.

There was an important piece missing still, Charles realised.

"Molly, what aren't you telling me? Did something else happen? Sohail always struck me as being really sad behind those ferocious eyes."

"There's quite a bit more, Charles. Some is too hard for me to say, too embarrassing .Qaseem said you could Skype him at the University and talk to him about it. You need to text him and make a time 'cos it's hard to get a link a lot of the time. Can you do that?"

"What's this about?" he wondered. "What could possibly be embarrassing?" A thought began forming, an impossible, crazy, ludicrous thought. The only way he could dispel it was to talk it through with the Afghani expert, Qaseem. He would do so as soon as possible. Still, there was something Molly was holding back.

"Tell me, Molly. What happened to Sohail when he was in Kabul at Uni?"

"Not to him, to his family. All of them, except him and his nephew, the one with him at the FOB. He were away at boarding school in the USA. Bright spark he is. Sohail's father refused to stop the Buzkashi. Said he weren't giving into blackmailers. They turned up the day after the next match and they blew the whole place up. Killed everybody, Sohails' parents, his sisters and their husbands and all the kids were there 'cos it were a holiday. Everybody blown up, red misted, even the babies. No witnesses, just bits of bodies and a whole stable of horses wot had their tendons cut. It were their noise, their crying out wot brought the neighbours. "

 _ **I really do appreciate your reviews, especially when I'm writing about something so different from the original story. Please let me know what you think.**_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

SKYPE TO KABUL

 _ **I had to take some time away from this as news in my country led us to believe that we have been deceived by our government about future military involvement in Iraq and/or Afghanistan. I am not yet sure why I feel so angry, but in the meantime, Sohail has been insistent that I get back to telling his (possible) tale. This is still rather more about Molly and the captain, but I am getting close to the "Why?" of Sohail's story.**_

Contacting Qaseem proved to be quite a mission for Charles. After Molly had told him about the massacre of Sohail's family he found he needed time to take on board the enormity of the story she had brought back from her latest tour in Afghanistan. Right from when he had first met her, Molly had been able to rattle his bones, to make him question his beliefs, to shake him out of his convictions that acting according to Army orders was always the right way to go. She never, ever, let him off lightly, making him challenge himself even when he didn't want to.

He recalled the disastrous episode in his cabin which had led to her finding out from Smurf about his marriage. Before he hid her in his wardrobe when Smurf arrived unexpectedly, they had spoken about the impact her total integrity had on him, how he had begun to act more compassionately, how she had changed him simply by being herself. And then Smurf had innocently asked the question about his wife. Even now, he regretted how his lack of courage, in fact his dishonesty at not telling her about Rebecca before that day had caused Molly such pain. He was even more ashamed still of the way he had gone after her and had tried to minimise his behaviour until a direct comment from her had him owning that not only was he married, but was also a father. The pain he caused Molly with that admission had been so easy to read on her face. Never did he want to hurt her like that again.

And that was why he took time to contact Qaseem. Over the next few days Charles was even more loving than usual, if that were possible, towards Molly. He told her that he could see how deeply she had been affected by what she had learned on her last tour in Afghan and commented more than once on his relief, as a man, that she had been able to call on Qaseem as a trusted ally and support person.

"I think," he observed on one occasion, "that Qaseem loves you, Molly. I remember him telling me how much peace you brought to his heart. I know he was very moved by your kindness to the young ANA boys as well as to the Under 5s and he told me you had a beautiful soul. Of course, Mols, I knew that already, but it was good to hear him say so. I think you've become another daughter for him. What do you think?"

Wrapping his arms around her, he had rained butterfly kisses on her nose and temples, taking delight in his new found ability to be physically close to her just to demonstrate his love for her, not needing to take it any further for the time being. They both knew now, were truly confident that their relationship was for always and that there were many ways to be together. Making love, just sometimes, could wait.

"Qaseem's easy to talk to. I sometimes wish he were my Dad, he don't want anything from me, just to help out. I talk lots of stuff through with him, even about you…" Flustered, she blushed. "I don't mean anything bad, just…"

"Don't worry, Molly. I trust both of you. I've been in touch with him by email and he's going to get back to me with a time to Skype him. You were right, getting a connection to Kabul is a real mission. He didn't seem surprised to hear from me, though. Seemed to know what I wanted, just like you said. So, we'll just wait, OK?" He didn't say that he had asked Qaseem to try for a time the following week when he knew Molly had arranged to stay overnight with her London family. His hunch was that it would be easier to talk man to man when she was not around. Feeling a bit guilty and worried that he didn't want to deceive her again, he told himself that he would hold nothing back from her afterwards of what Qaseem might have to say.

The Skype arrangement was straightforward as it turned out and the following morning Monday afternoon in Kabul and morning in Bath, two men made a computer link to talk about a matter that was very important to both of them. Like most men who have seen active service together in wartime, Charles and Qaseem shared understandings that did not have to be spoken. You do not deal together with the deaths of young people and the havoc that weapons wreak on the landscape and the lives of people without forging bonds that do not have to be put into words. As well, these two men both loved, in their different ways, a young woman who had thoroughly shaken both their hearts up and who challenged them to be the best men they could possibly be.

"Always good to speak with you, Captain James. I was not surprised you contacted me after Molly went home. In fact, I suggested that she might get you to do so.'

"Qaseem, I'm not on active duty now. In fact, my commission is on hold until I find out how permanent the results of these injuries are going to be. So, I'm just plain Charles, please. Though I hope you can say my name without mocking me like a certain person we both know did! Really cheeky, she was, no respect for either my rank or my advancing age. She really does make me laugh. How about you?"

The Afghani smiled gently. "Molly Dawes brings me a lot of joy, Charles. There's a special quality about her that I find hard to name, almost a sort of innocence, a kindness, a sense of wonder. I'm really not sure of the words I want but I think you know what I'm trying to get at. You might have a better way of describing it. After all, English is not my first language."

"Yeah, well I'm biased, Qaseem. I'm absolutely besotted with her. I never thought I would ever feel like this about any woman. My divorce was messy and painful as hell and the last thing I wanted was some little green-eyed Cockney medic to arrive in Afghan and totally distract me from being a hot-shot officer in the British Army. Boy, she really did for me, my Molly did!"

"That's what I was hoping to talk with you about, Charles, that and where all this is heading. Molly and I did a lot of talking in between my lecturing at the University, her teaching half the women in Kabul to be medics and both of us running round all over the most dangerous places in this province looking for an eleven year old girl in hiding from the Taliban in Helmand Province.

She had me eating out of the palm of her hand –is that how you say it? – while she was here and I think she can do the same with you, only you are her man, for life, I think. I am her second father, she needs two to keep her safe from harm." He smiled gently as he spoke to Charles and waited patiently for his response.

"I'm worried about what happened to her when Sohail died, Qaseem. Before she went away, I knew there were things she needed to work out, including this, but I didn't realise till she told me just recently how much it had affected her that he had been beaten to death because he refused to kill her. I thought she would have come to understand that it was just part of war. Though, God help me, when he was rushed off to Intensive Care after he crashed that day, I could not stop myself from holding her and wiping her tears away." His voice wavered at that point and Qaseem was not surprised to see two tears roll down his cheeks. Impatiently, Charles dashed them away and went on "Look at me, crying like a baby! I don't know, ever since **she** turned up I've had all these crazy emotions I can't control any more. I laugh, I cry, I feel like my heart will burst I love her so much… Why are you laughing, Qaseem? Why are you lifting that eyebrow?"

"When Molly was here and we weren't educating or searching for half the population of Kabul, we talked a lot. She wanted to know about being in love, Charles. I told her I had been and still was in love with my wife even though she has been dead for ten years now. I still weep for her and I am no longer ashamed of that, though in our culture it is sometimes thought unmanly to weep for a mere woman. Charles, I'm just going to ask you some questions. Don't answer if you don't want to, but it would be good to think about some of these things. Just before we start, I am absolutely sure Molly is deeply in love with you. I just wanted you to know that, from a very interested observer."

"OK, fire ahead."

"Charles, how did you meet Molly?"

"She turned up on the tarmac at Brize Norton. Replacement for our medic who had a late injury. I was pissed off that we had to get a replacement, let alone a mouthy Cockney girl who gave me cheek. Then she had enough more cheek to look straight at me with her big green eyes when we all lined up for our pre-deployment photo in front of the plane. Forced me to turn and look back at her, she did."

"What happened when you did that? Turned to look at her?'

"I had a shiver run right down my spine, I couldn't make out what was happening to me,so I pulled my attention back to all the stuff I had to do to get us in the air and off to Afghan."

"When you think back now, what do you think happened to you?"

"In all honesty, I think I fell totally in love with Molly Dawes the moment she first smiled at me. I remember asking myself how I was ever going to get through six months deployment without her, because I just knew she was the one. I had to put it away in the very back parts of my heart and head and we both know how bloody successful that was, don't we, Qaseem?"

"Do you remember much about Smurf's behaviour on that day? Towards Molly?"

"Not really. I was aware of copious amounts of dick waving (here, he blushed, suddenly aware of Qaseem's stance on not using Army style profanity. With a wave of his hand, the other man indicated that there was no issue.) There were all these Under5 squaddies, full of testosterone and bravado, making suggestive comments. She seemed to take it all in her stride. Must have been bloody annoying for her, when I come to think about it now. Bit ashamed I didn't step in."

"And when did you first become aware of Sohail, Charles?"

"Not long after we arrived in the FOB and were settling into routine. It wasn't long before I noticed this very big ANA soldier, often on gate duty, or milling around the FOB like any other of the soldiers there. He seemed most times to have other, younger soldiers around him. What I remember about him most was that he always looked pissed off, as if he were angry at the whole world.

I remember Smurf swaggering up to him, chesting up like a bantam rooster, if I recall. It looked so bloody ridiculous because Smurf is just a short arse and Sohail was enormous, could have swatted Smurf down like a fly if he had wanted to. Something that must have got right up Sohail's nose must have been said, because he began to reach for his gun."

"What happened then?"

"Private Dawes arrived out of nowhere. And led Smurf away. This was when I heard the first mention of the word "Taliban". Apparently Smurf had made that accusation to the ANA man. And that's how dangerous Smurf's unresolved grief and anger about his brother Geraint's death might turn out to be, I thought. I'd probably made a huge error of judgement allowing him to come on tour.

This was when I first noticed Private Dawes' powers of observation, her alertness to possible trouble in the ranks. I remember thinking what an asset that might turn out to be. How right I was, eh, Qaseem?"

 _ **Please read and review. I realise it's been a while. Your comments help me stay motivated.**_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Lady and Lancelot

 _ **People's opinion of us is affected by the way we behave. Molly's actions in the field make the men she serves with really think about who she is and how they regard her.**_

Qaseem took a big breath. This next part of the conversation with Charles James had the potential to get quite tricky, particularly if the Englishman did not have his jealous streak under control. In talking with Molly, Qaseem had discovered just how that ugly character flaw had once created a toxic triangle between Molly, the captain and Smurf. For one thing, Charles had not covered himself in glory when pulling rank over the enlisted man to discourage him from pursuing Molly with a marriage proposal. And the male posturing and competitiveness between them had led in the end to the deadly situation at the checkpoint which had resulted in both men being wounded. The softly spoken Afghani kept this firmly in mind as he carefully steered the conversation in what he hoped was a helpful direction.

"I hope you'll see where this is leading us, Charles," he continued. "I've thought a great deal about the impact that meeting Molly Dawes had on me. I've learned to let myself love her, like a daughter. I wonder how it was for you to realise you had such feelings for a girl, as young as she was when she came to my country? It seemed to me that that you and Molly might have come from different lands altogether, rather than from two cities less than two hours apart. It was as if you were from different worlds."

"I know," agreed Charles. "I was broadsided from the start. We couldn't have been more different. To start with, she was just a teenager."

"Some of my Buddhist friends might describe Molly as an old soul. Age is really just a number, then," mused Qaseem." I wondered where she got her kindness from, until I found out she was the oldest child in a large family and had to look after her brothers and sisters a lot. She always spoke of them with such love, even though they were…how do you say it? A pain, sometimes."

"Yes. I was actually quite jealous of that. There was only me in my family and I always longed for a big brother or sister when I was a little kid. When I met her family not so long ago I was struck by the love they have for one another as well as by the noise and commotion. And the laughter, which Molly seems to be in the middle of most of the time. You couldn't get a household more different from the one I grew up in. Yet I felt comfortable right away. Her family teased me about my posh boy accent – made me blush! She does it all the time and tries to mimic me. Doesn't work though, she gets all tangled up in her Cockney slang which I'm just learning. It's very funny at times."

Qaseem responded with a wry grin.

"When we had long boring nights in the FOB, Molly taught me lots of Cockney. I had never come across it before. Fascinating. Once we got to know each other a bit better she asked me about poetry. Something about the rhyme, like Cockney. It seemed that she had found out that you loved it and she wanted to know why. She caught on very quickly and was borrowing my books all the time. "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" caught her attention and she also loved "The Lady of Shallot." I think she enjoyed the rhythm and the storylines most of all. It was most strange for me, a middle aged Afghani, teaching an English teenager about the work of Coleridge and Tennyson."

Qaseem told him how the story of the Lady made Molly cry. Sir Lancelot reminded her a lot, she said, of her Captain. Sometimes she thought that if she got too close or looked too hard at this man she had fallen in love with, then her world would shatter and she would lose all the pieces, forever. She might be condemned to drift away, too. With tears in his eyes again, Charles listened carefully as Qaseem recalled how he had talked to Molly of the power and purpose of poetry to access the deepest of emotions and fears and to bring them into the light of day. This, he recognised was what the poetry he loved did for him. Rather than separate them because of a supposed gulf in their intellects or education, it seemed a love of poetry might be common ground for the future,

Charles was excited when Qaseem went further. He had, he said, told Molly about adult education, saying there was no reason why she should not study at University now, if that was what she wanted. Dubious at first, she had warmed to the idea gradually and had talked about studying for a professional qualification in a health related field as well as poetry, of course.

"So, Charles." Qaseem took a new direction. "Here is this small, green-eyed person who stole your heart away the minute you met her. I think she would be very different from other women you had met? Were you ever expecting a "someone" like her to do that? What were the things, apart from the green eyes and the cheekiness which kept you in there? I know, I know, lots of questions. Tell me some of the ways she really did hold you captive after that day on the tarmac at Brize Norton."

"I really tried to shake her out of my head and I'm not proud of the way I embarrassed her when she moved into Barracks, telling her it was stags only and making it difficult for her to get shifted.

Then next day I met "the shorts" which were to cause me, and I think quite a few of the other guys, so much "botheration", as my father would describe their effect on my heart rate and blood pressure. I didn't get around to telling her that the PE session on the first morning would be in full combat kit with full bergens. So she comes out of the tent in those bloody shorts and I comment that atat least she's not wearing her stilettos. And I go on to humiliate and shout at her when she stumbles in the heat under the weight of all her gear. I was a proper shit to her and she just took it without a 's

Then she dresses the blisters on my feet as if they belong to a small child, gently and carefully as if nothing had happened after she was shot at by insurgents targeting the woman soldier. She teases me about running all the Under 5s around the compound and looks into my eyes and I'm gone even further, Qaseem. I am aware that I am losing the plot, big time, and there doesn't seem to be any way I can stop it.

The next bit you know. You were there when she insisted on going to rescue bloody stupid Smurf when he took himself and the vallon into the minefield."

Nodding slowly in acknowledgement, the Afghani picked up the conversation. "This is where the legend of the brave woman warrior begins in the ranks of our ANA soldiers. Captain Azizi was there, I was there, several other Afghanis were there to see her crawl through the minefield, deal with an exploding device and then, then we saw the strength of this tiny Englishwoman. Men from this part of the world have a different "normal" when it comes to how women should be and what they should do. Certainly they do not expect tiny girls to put their fist in a man's gaping wound to stop him bleeding to death! Then to risk sniper fire by being winched up to a helicopter with her fist still in the wound. Around me I hear whispering and prayers to Allah and sighs of relief when they are pulled onto the chopper. I know my heart has been hammering out of my chest and I can see the sweat pouring off your face…"

"Yep. As I said at the time she disobeyed me and pretended she didn't hear my orders. But what she did **was** fucking awesome and she said she was just doing her job! And I fell even further and further under what I can only say is hert spell.

"Then we are on patrol in the mountain pass and we find a wounded insurgent in the middle of several dead after a strafing. Dawes works with you and with me to save his life and to do so is just as important to her as if he were one of ours," continued Qaseem.

"Our ANA men have been brought up to believe that women are looked after, that men do the rescuing and the saving of lives, yet here is this woman whose behaviour and bravery contradict most of what they have been told about "females" as they are often called. Though they would never own up to it, there is a quiet respect growing amongst our men for Molly Dawes. Of course the Under 5s have no trouble seeing her as "one of the lads" it is so much harder for the young Muslim men to look past the unwomanly fatigues."

Charles was looking thoughtful. As he invariably did when he was perplexed or puzzled, he scratched at the back of his head and bit down on his lip.

And then there were "the shorts" Not only was she wearing trousers, sometimes they were of the very skimpy variety and she wandered the FOB as if there were nothing untoward. But also, her hair was on show. Unlike any women these Afghani men knew, her thick brown hair was plaited into a careless pigtail which was often loose or wispy in the Afghan humidity and it was not covered with a headscarf.

It seemed as if none of the rules applied to her yet the men were all acutely aware of her presence and her power. Only some of them, Qaseem and Azizi and Sohail probably, understood that she was doubly off limits. Charles wondered now whether these men saw the growing attraction between Molly Dawes and himself. He had thought he had made a good job of disguising his feelings though there were times when that was almost impossible. He thought it might pay to ask Qaseem if and when he could see the truth. Qaseem took a very long time to answer. In his own quiet but direct way, he looked across the Skype miles between Kabul and Bath. He seemed to smile with his whole being.

"I told you Molly wanted to talk to me about a man being in love. She was wise to talk to me. I said to her that one man truly in love invariably knows if another man is in the same state. I have to tell you, Charles, that I knew the very first time that was how it was with you.

When Molly became agitated about the Lady of Shallot, I told her that you were no Lancelot. You were, I told her, her man for her lifetime. I don't think I am wrong. But I think you need to be aware that other men will always recognise that part of her that first drew you in. Do not, my friend, take her for granted. Love her out loud now you don't have to hide any longer." 

_**Please read and review. The story is coming to me faster now. Sohail needs you to know.**_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

ASSUMPTIONS

 _ **Mistakes and misunderstandings can occur between people of different cultures and belief systems if we don't remember the wisdom of Sohail. "Our normal is not your normal" he said. Neither, Charles is beginning to think, is it OK to assume that our way is necessarily the first choice.**_

Honestly, Charles had not given any thought to how other men might respond to Molly as a woman rather than as a soldier. Smurf he had never really considered to be serious competition, largely because Molly had made it pretty clear that she did not have romantic feelings for her fellow squaddie. Still, Charles was not entirely comfortable with himself when he recalled how dismissive he had been of Smurf's powers to have any pull over Molly's emotions. In retrospect he could see how supremely sure he had been of his own ability to charm Molly. Bloody arrogant was how he had been, actually.

Quite a lot of that had to do with his awareness that he had always been a man to whom women were easily drawn. He had noticed that power from quite an early age. Friends of his mother had commented when he was just a boy about his capacity to charm them with very little effort other than a flash of his startling brown eyes and a slow smile. Many a Bath matron had recognised that Charles had a latent sexual energy about him from an early age. Several had commented to his mum that she would need to keep an eye on her charming (and dangerous) boy as he grew through his teens. One or two of them hoped she would not do so and it was not clear who could be in the most danger should an opportunity for experimentation present itself. Charles or any one of the rare few "cougars", tacky and distasteful though that term might be, who had the honesty to acknowledge their uncomfortable attraction to this adolescent charmer could quite possibly ignite an entirely inappropriate episode, or ten.

His father, still with a good deal of pulling power with the ladies well into his fifties, recalled his own history littered with narrow escapes from seriously dangerous situations, including physical threats from angry husbands. Some of those episodes had the power to make him cringe when he recalled their slapstick-like qualities, rather like very bad television. Wanting to impress upon Charles the advisability of avoiding such unpleasantness and possible injury, particularly to precious parts of his personal anatomy, his father steered him in the direction of sport on the premise that wearing himself out on the Rugby field would be sensible. He hoped that his boy would find ways to negotiate the minefield of romance and relationships without doing too much emotional damage to himself or others. Expending excess physical energy in a blood sport such as rugby, boxing, perhaps fencing were all tried and true ways to wear oneself out, to expend excess testosterone.

Certainly at high school and University Charles had never wanted for female company and his treatment of some girls had been less than classy. If he were completely honest, he would need to acknowledge that he had often been arrogant and unfeeling towards Rebecca even before they met and married whilst at University. Their break up had been protracted and painful and he accepted that he carried a lot of responsibility for that. He understood now why she did not want to be in his company for more than a few minutes at a time and then only to deal with matters to do with Sam, their son. Time and distance from Rebecca had allowed him to see his part in their relationship breakdown and he was truly sorry for his role in it and for causing her unnecessary hurt.

Having developed the maturity to acknowledge his own flaws, Charles was determined that he was not going to create a similar situation with Molly. Above all, he wanted her to feel safe and secure with him and never, ever feel as if she wanted to not be with him. Never would he forget how his heart had lurched with sheer joy on that morning last month. She had knocked on his door, asking,

"Missed me?" Only then did he admit to himself the fear he had been carrying that she would not come back to him after this latest tour to Kabul. He had told her to go because she needed to do so. The waiting to see if his faith in setting her free would bring her back to him had seemed interminable.

"Charles. Where have you gone to?" Qaseem's soft voice brought him back. He had drifted away from the conversation with the Afghani as he recalled that day which was the first of the rest of his life.

" I was saying to you that other men may see in Molly the same things you do and that you need to show her such love that she will want to keep coming back to you. Because I think, Charles, that you will never cage her and other men may try to do so."

"I know she wants to do more with her Army career, Qaseem. Possibly some advanced medic training. Perhaps even study to become a doctor. She has talents she doesn't know about yet." Charles laid out for his friend the personal attributes he thought would take Molly further in her work.

The first thing that came to mind was her ability to relate to other people. Molly was an individual operator who could become a team player at a moment's notice if that was required. Certainly her competence in the field, her ability to think on her feet and her speed of reaction under pressure made her a very welcome part of any team involved in a military undertaking. Whilst she may not have had Sandhurst officer training, it was clear that Molly was a natural leader. Charles had more than once wondered what might happen for her if, indeed, she were able to get that training. His hunch was that she would be very successful and would climb the military ranks just as rapidly as he had. He was not sure how he felt about this recognition: unconsciously he crinkled up his forehead and scratched the back of his head as he considered what this might mean. Would she be a better officer than him? Quite conceivably so, he had to admit.

"Charles, I think we should get back on track with the real reason behind this conversation between you and me. Sohail, what Molly and you need to do to be at peace with what happened to him."

"You're right, Qaseem. I still find it all very confusing, though I'm beginning to see how wrong the assumptions I made about the man were…"

The Afghani raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of Charles' admission.

"Getting back to what Molly had to say might be the way to go. I was just remembering a conversation she and I had about the day you had the FOB Olympics, just before she went on leave.

For some reason she called it the Cocopops day – that is one of your English breakfasts in a box? Molly said she was eating this breakfast outside, near the shower block, when Sohail and Ali walked past. Sohail muttered in Pashto and when I asked her what it was, she came up with some words though she said she wasn't sure if she was saying them "proper like."

Smiling at the memory of dipping his spoon in Molly's breakfast that morning and teasing her about her willingness or not to let Sohail do the same, Charles waited to hear the soldier's words. According to Qaseem, it was likely that what Molly had heard was something close to "There she is. She looks at me as if I am the enemy," when he translated it. Of course, at the time she had no idea what he was saying so she didn't think about it, just called him a rude name under her breath and forgot about it.

Charles remembered how easy it had been to assume that the tall, taciturn Afghani was part of the enemy. Now he knew that the truth was exactly the opposite, he was beginning to understand the tragic playing out of the last days of Sohail's life. He would need to give some thought to the soldier's words that day. Why on earth would it matter to him what Molly thought of him. Very odd…

Unbidden, the incident during which Molly had pleaded with him to allow her to treat Bashira's injured eye came back to him. He recalled how overbearing his behaviour had been and how he had told Molly that she was not endearing herself to him by attending to the girl, who should have been treated at a local hospital. Sohail had been agitated at the physical closeness of the girl to Molly. It seemed the ANA soldier could eventually bear it no longer pulling the girl away from Molly even before the treatment was finished. He probably didn't hear the girl pass on to Molly a warning about not going to the mountains.

Had he been worried that Bashira might be under instructions to harm the medic? Charles wondered whether there might have been rumours around about the girl being trained to carry out a suicide mission. They had all noticed her constant presence whenever the troops were on patrol outside the garrison gates. Certainly, the passivity of Bashira when eventually she revealed the suicide vest in the village square suggested a sort of silent resignation to her fate: it would seem to her that Molly had not followed her warning and others had already died.

Now that he knew Sohail's family story and could understand at least some of the motivation for the soldier's actions in the FOB, Charles felt a dull shame at his own willingness to believe the worst of the other man. No wonder Sohail had reacted so vehemently when they had visited his tent. But he still felt there was something he was missing, now that he knew that assuming Sohail to be Taliban could not be further from the truth.

"Charles, I have told you of the respect the ANA soldiers had for Molly and their admiration for her bravery. Everything about her was in conflict with what they had been told about lazy, indolent, impure Western women. And they would not have been human if they had not noticed that she was a very attractive young woman. After all, they were seeing far more of her than they were used to seeing of their own girls. There are strict rules and serious punishments for those who don't obey the religious rules when unmarried people are brought together, even by chance.

It is not permitted for them to eat together in public. They cannot touch, even by accident…''

James was taken back in a flash to the ANA tent in the FOB, He was hearing Sohail's incredulous "The female?" when it was suggested that he give Molly a cup of chai. He heard again his own comment that British men allowed women to drink tea and mentally cringed when he heard how patronising that was to women, anyhow. And once again, he saw Sohail carefully place the full cup on the table just out of Molly's reach. So that there was no chance that their fingers might touch. If that happened, the consequences for both of them would be dire. The big Afghani had not been insulting the tiny British medic, the female, at all, Charles realised.

Qaseem interrupted his train of thought. In the distance, thousands of miles away in Kabul, the muzzein was calling the people to prayer.

"I will need to talk to you again tomorrow, Charles. This link will break in two minutes for prayer."

"Of course, Qaseem. I've got a lot to think about. Our, or more precisely my lack of awareness of Sohail's culture and the rules he had to live by…. I think that's something we never gave much thought to, always thinking we were right and sometimes that we were better than the local people. Totally insensitive a lot of the time. Bloody arrogant!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Charles. Sohail summed it up. 'Your normal is not our normal,' he said. I think when we start to really understand that, then we can truly work together.

Please give my best wishes to Molly Dawes. Tell her I think of her smiling green eyes and her funny Cockney talk every day."

 _ **To those of you who leave such encouraging reviews, sorry about the delay. Real life can be a real pain when all I want to do is write. Please keep on commenting. I do appreciate your feedback.**_


	8. Chapter 8 LOVING KINDNESS

Chapter 8

LOVING KINDNESS

 _ **So here is the last part of the search for the real Sohail. If it seems hard to believe, take a look at the camera shot of him outside his tent after Molly and Captain James leave during Episode 2. I have enjoyed researching and writing this tale. Finding seemingly small bytes from the series and expanding them seems to be my buzz. I'm sorry for the delay in completing this. Over recent weeks I've developed Carpal Tunnel syndrome and extended use of my right hand is pretty painful. Awaiting surgery, so might need to slow down writing for a while**_

Molly called him that evening to check in. Hearing her was a major struggle. The kids were fighting and Dave, sounding pissed, was apparently holding forth to one of his equally pissed mates about something or other on the tele, which was, as usual, at full volume, either a game show or a football match, probably

Charles often wondered how Belinda coped with the chaos of daily life at the Dawes'. She and Molly seemed to have developed a capacity to tune the distractions out, a survival skill which Molly had taken with her into the madness that was Afghanistan at war. A capacity to focus intently on the business at hand whilst filtering out extraneous noise and fringe activity had certainly been evident in her rescue of Smurf from the minefield. And again in her fearless support of Bashira whilst the two young women waited for the safe removal of the explosive vest in which the young Afghani had been dressed by the Taliban.

Charles hadn't been quite so impressed with her ability to use her filtering skills to tune him out, quite deliberately, when she decided she was not about to comply with an order. And she could do it in a way which disarmed him totally. Molly could play him like a fish on a hook and he didn't usually see it until he'd been thrown back into the water, hook detached as if nothing had happened.

"I just remembered something, Bossman," reverting to the old nickname as was her habit when talking about their Afghan experiences, she raised her voice till she was yelling in his ear. Grimacing, he held the phone away, but was still able to make out what she had to tell him. "At the end of my tour doin' the medic stuff, I talked to a lot of Afghan officers who were in charge of training new recruits to go to places like the FOB where we was. At the end, who comes up to me, but Captain Azizi, only he's a Major now and he was there 'cos he's working in Kabul with recruits, getting them ready to be proper soldiers, you know like Rolex Boy and them other young kids. And he heard I was talking and he came to see me 'cos they need to train lots of medics and they haven't got enough and he told me he wished I could stay and work with…"

"Hey, hey, slow down, Molly," Charles interrupted her as the words tumbled out and her volume increased even more. "Why has this come up right now, while you're in London and I'm here in Bath missing you and about to go to bed all lonely and sad? By the way, I had a long talk with Qaseem today till we got interrupted by the muzzein and prayer time. We're going to talk some more tomorrow."

"That's just it, Charles. Azizi, he asked after you, whether I had any news of you and I told him we was together now. He didn't seem surprised and he asked me if I would give you his card 'cos he would like to stay in touch. And he said it was really sad wot happened to Sohail and he would like to talk to you about some things to do with his death.

And that's why I remembered just now, 'cos I knew you were going to be talking to Qaseem about Sohail stuff and I really, really want to get it sorted out in me nut, Charles."

Hearing the urgency in her voice as the words tumbled out, he wondered whether she might be thinking along the same lines as he was beginning to when it came to Sohail. Thoughts that had been getting more insistent since they first arrived a while ago, thoughts which at first had seemed crazy but did seem less so now, the more he let them in.

"Oh, there was something else he said that was interesting, Bossman. You remember Ali, Sohail's nephew? Major Azizi said he had made ANA command let Ali come to Kabul with him as part of his staff. Ali was totally shocked when Sohail went missing and then fetched up dead. Azizi said he felt really sorry for the lad 'cos all his family was gone now and he needed someone to look out for him. Kind thing to do. Sort of thing Qaseem would do if he could."

"Exactly. Azizi was a good man to work with in the FOB. I've got a lot of respect for him."

"Well, go in my Bergen and look in the outside pocket. You'll find his card there. Charles, please talk to him. I have a funny feeling he's got something important to say. And, you know, I just got this stuff in my nut about Sohail, like I have to know why he said them strange things on the day he died. Like it won't be all OK for you and me till we know…like something is getting in the way and I don't have any idea what it is."

"I'll call him tomorrow, or at least email him, Mols. Now you go and deal with that noisy lot in the background. I can't wait till you get back tomorrow night. 'Bye, Molly Dawes. I love you"

"Love you too."

There it was, in her kitbag, with the ANA officer's contact details, the card which confirmed his new status as a major. Charles, aware of Azizi's comparative youth and inexperience, wondered how he would be dealing with the pressures and responsibilities of such rapid acceleration up the military ranks. The young Afghani was a decent man who cared deeply for the men in his command, as had Charles, and the two men had forged a relationship built on respect and the sharing of their particular expertise.

Charles had not expected instant success and was pleasantly surprised to dial straight through to the ANA Headquarters phone number on the business card. Yes, Major Azizi was on duty, and yes, the operator thought he was in the building right now. If Captain James would wait, Major Azizi would be connected to him presently. And there he was, just like that, as if they were in adjoining rooms rather than many thousands of miles away from one another. First they talked about Charles' recovery from his injuries. Azizi had heard from Molly that Charles was doing well, but the two men were able to talk in depth about his recovery. They caught up on news about various people with whom both had served, discussed the progress of the war, and Azizi's promotion, until Charles could contain himself no longer.

"Molly told me you had some information about Sohail. I was, as you know, with him and Molly when he died and have been really puzzled by some of the things he had to say on that awful day. I wonder if you can shed any light on any of it? Molly is still very distressed about it all and I am beginning to think some pretty crazy stuff myself. What was going on with Sohail ? It took a hell of a lot of courage to take that terrible beating to avoid killing a woman who was everything that Moslem men are taught to despise. I know we all assumed he was Taliban and we were terribly wrong and I'm totally ashamed of making that assumption. But there is something very odd about all this. Can you shed any light?"

After the conversation which followed, Charles was hard pressed to describe his frame of mind. To start with, the crazy ideas he had been trying to push out of his thinking were, Azizi confirmed, true. He would need to talk to Molly about them as soon as possible. So they could be acknowledged and dealt to, for good. He needed to let Qaseem know what he had found out. He didn't really want to talk to Qaseem at length about the ideas just yet, so sat down and wrote a brief email to the Afghani professor. They would speak in a few days' time.

And he sat at the high kitchen bench in his parents' home, nursing a very large whiskey, pondering on the madness of a world where the lives of a Sandhurst trained officer in the British Army, of an Afghani wrestler who became a soldier after his family was murdered and of a female squaddie from East London who became a skilled medic and a decorated war hero could become so entwined in a sea of sand in the hostile hinterland of Afghanistan.

He did not know any way to tell Molly what he had discovered, and what he had suspected for quite some time, without causing her pain. He guessed, after all, that was part of loving someone. There would be times that one person would be hurting and, try as they might, the other could not take the hurt away, only be there to acknowledge the reality and then offer comfort and kindness. That would be his task with Molly tomorrow evening when she got home. He would collect her from the train and bring her home to Royal Crescent. And would tell her and they would talk and then he would take her to his bed and he would hold her close and warm, next to his heart, and he would make her understand the depth and the breadth of his love for her.

That was what he would do, tomorrow. When the whiskey was finished, he made his way up the stairs to the shower, noticing the heaviness and slowness of his steps, rather as if he were trudging across a battlefield after a bloody and brutal encounter with some unnamed enemy. The shower was hot. Charles stood there letting the heat and steam work their magic on the muscles across the back of his shoulders, releasing the tension he noticed that had been building ever since this matter of Sohail was broached. The more relaxed he could be tomorrow, the better.

Once out of the shower, all he wanted was to sleep. As he brushed his teeth, he noticed as he looked in the mirror, a very large tear in the inner corner of each eye. How ironic, he thought as he recalled wiping tears from Molly's face on the day of Sohail's death. Charles did himself the kindness of wiping his own away with his thumbs. As he laid his head on his pillow he was aware that his eyes were tearing up again.

Molly was first off the train, running down the platform, her overnight bag banging against her leg, her arms up like a small child, jumping up to him, clinging to him, kissing him, holding him so tight, so tight as if she would never let him go, ever again. In between kisses, he could feel the foolish, childlike grin spread across his face. God, he had hated being away from her. God, he loved her!

"I missed you, Bossman! Let's go home, right now." She looked at him from under her eyelashes, suggestive and innocent at the same time. Stepping back from him, she scoped his body from the bottom up, unashamedly ogling him, then moving in and wriggling in so close while she kissed the sweet spot on his neck that she couldn't miss his immediate physical response. She smirked and gave him her own special Travelodge laugh, from their first date in Bath, the one that took his memory straight away to the first time they had made love. The one that caused an instantaneous and disconcertingly obvious response in his groin.

"I've got designs on you Charles James. Take me home to bed. I want to all sorts of evil things to you. And with you."

"I'd like nothing better, Molly. But I think we need to talk first. I've been talking to Azizi and Qaseem and I think we need to deal with that first, OK? And then, I promise you, we are going to bed and we'll probably find it very hard to ever get out again, that's if I have my way. I love you, Dawes!"

So he got her home and he made her tea and himself coffee and they sat outside, across from one another at the small white wrought iron table. He held her small hands in his and stroked her with his long slim fingers as he had done before on the day when he had ordered Rosabaya and her return to him in the FOB. He told her about Qaseem. About Azizi. About himself and how he had responded to what they had told him.

About Sohail, who had told them on that dusty roadside on the way back to Bastion that he had nothing to live for. Who had no family left. Who had been beaten and scarred. Who had been labelled Taliban when the Taliban was the very force that had destroyed his family andhis heritage. Who seemed to simmer with rage and no wonder, once you knew some of his story.

And Sohail whom she had defended from Smurf on the very first occasion that they had all been in the FOB at the same time. Sohail, who had heard tales of her bravery on patrol. Her courage in rescuing that idiot Smurf had become the stuff of legends amongst the ANA soldiers who had been witnesses. Her refusal to abandon the local girl to whom bombs had been strapped and her total disregard for her own safety was also part of her legend. She was everything that Western woman were not according to what Moslem men were taught in this country and she was very obviously in love with that jumped-up British officer who thought he knew all about Afghanistan because he had served here four times and who actually knew NOTHING! Nothing of any real value. And that officer, no matter how much he thought he was hiding it, was just as much in love with her.

So Charles told her what the university professor and the career ANA men had told him. Parallel stories, he was not sure who said what. He recounted the conversation with Sohail that Azizi described straight after he and Molly had visited the soldier's tent. Azizi had noticed Sohail outside the tent, following the departing British soldiers with such a look of sadness and confusion that he had wondered what was going on. Calling him into his own tent, away from unwelcome witnesses, he had probed and prompted until Sohail had cracked. The big man had broken down in tears. Azizi still felt uncomfortable, he said, that he had been responsible for the man losing his cool. He was too kind a person to cause another shame and pain if he could avoid it.

Sohail could not account for what had happened to him. What he had been feeling was against all he had been taught, all he had expected to happen in his life. What had started as respect for her courage had transmuted. Sohail had fallen irrefutably and hopelessly for this small British soldier. But not only did she not match up at all with any of the qualities and criteria of suitability of women for men from his country and culture, she was very obviously committed to another man. Sohail told Azizi that he had fallen totally in love with Molly Dawes. Azizi agreed that there was absolutely nothing he could do about that.

Sohail had sacrificed himself, refused to acquiesce to the Taliban orders that he destroy her not only because it was his duty to do so, but because he loved her, so very much and so hopelessly. This was how Charles explained the huge and brave heart of this other man who had been so completely misunderstood.

Molly had listened to Charles recount the parts of the story he had heard from his two Afghani friends with her head bowed, in absolute stillness. Now, she raised her head and he saw the tears flowing down her face. This time, he made no move to wipe them away. It was not his call at this stage.

"What do you think, Charles?" she whispered. "I hope you don't think I did anything…."

"Molly, I 'm not as surprised as I thought I might be. Actually, I've been wondering for a while whether there was something like this happening. I think he wasn't the only man in love with you. I know I am, and I know Smurf was and I think that tosser sergeant who trained you at basic probably was and half of 2Section are… It's nothing that you do, my Molly, it's who you are that makes men love you."

"I'm just having a quiet smile to myself, inside, Charles. I'm hoping that if Sohail did love me,that he got to feel some good things, if even just a little bit. It's magic to love someone, even if you don't know if they love you back. Feeling love is special, Charles."

"I'm not jealous, Molly. Sohail didn't have much left at all in his life. I'm almost glad that he had enough good taste to fall in love with my girl. He was certainly very brave but I think we should let him go now. What about you?"

"Having some answers makes me feel at peace, Charles. I'm going to make a promise to myself to smile every time I think of Sohail from now on 'cos I never have to worry any more about him."

Now he wiped her face and, leaning over, kissed her nose. Standing, he pulled her to her feet and picked her up, tucking her head under his chin.

"We need to go inside now, Molly. I need you to know just how much I love you. And this time it's going to take me hours and hours to show you."

 _I'm always grateful for you reviews, especially when you go to the time and trouble to review after each chapter. Please do the same this time…I think I'll head back to the M scene and finish the trip to Aotearoa shortly…_


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